8.April.06

The Beginning

By: Sinead

~< Part Three >~

“Hurrrrarrgh!”

The tall warrior’s war cry froze the other bot in his tracks. He turned, but was hit in the back with twin neon-green eye beams twice before he could even take another step.

The warrior would have stormed out of the arena, still unable to find a real challenge . . . but then again, he remembered a four-year promise. He smirked mentally, looking at limbs that had become study and powerful over the years of training and battle. He walked over to his last opponent. The bot was glaring up at him, daring him to do something else. Instead, the slightly-smaller arena fighter found himself helped to his feet to be half-carried to the CR chamber.

After that was through, the first warrior cleaned up, looking up at a news broadcast. It was another biography special upon the child Awn’néad . . . like that girl needed any more attention. The human needed peace and quiet, time away from the press and the public to become who she was meant to be . . . and that would be who she chose to be.

Smiling genuinely at a snapshot of an infant Awn’néad in the arms of her mother, Sinead, the bot realized with a start that he was nearly there . . .

~*~

Ten-year-old Awn’néad walked next Optimus, who was going to try to find another Guardian Program eligible bot to keep Awn’néad company. Instead of looking at resumes, they were going to an orphanage.

“The middle kid of the five oldest is just at the cutoff age,” the director of the orphanage said. Her name was Ice Novice. She was just informing the young human and her Guardian about the five oldest in the orphanage/learning center. There were three boys, and two girls. The oldest was fifteen, and the youngest were two years younger than Awn’néad.

“Do you think that we could meet him?” Optimus Prime asked.

Ice Novice smiled, and said, “Sure. Follow me, please.”

She led them into the Educational/Recreational Building, where the five older bots had free time and were playing arcade games. Usually, since they were the oldest, they helped out a lot with the younger kids so they earned the time off.

“We have visitors!”Ice Novice called to them.

One of the bots turned off the game console, while another said, “All right!”

The oldest, who was female, walked over to Awn’néad, and held out her hand. Awn’néad shook it, and the bot said, “I’m Star Destiny, but all of my friends call me Starry.”

“You shouldn’t be so informal with the daughter of Sinead, Star Destiny! You know better than that!” Ice Novice rebuked, not knowing what would happen . . . although she expected Awn’néad and Prime to turn and leave.

Optimus and Awn’néad shared a look, then Awn’néad looked back at Ice Novice. “You shouldn’t reprimand her for that. I’m just like any other ten-year-old. I actually like it when somebody treats me like everyone else. I know that my mother was important in both Cybertronian and human history, but . . . well, I’ve talked with Depth Charge, her old Head Guardian, and he said that she didn’t ask for much, and the only thing that she really wanted was to be treated like any other human. And she was, too, once people actually listened to her. I’d like to be treated like she was.”

Ice Novice was speechless, because she never knew that Sinead’s daughter would gladly turn down fame so easily.

“So, you just want to be treated like any other human?” a younger bot asked, breaking the silence and smiling.

“Yeah.”

“Now, that’s ultra gear!” he said.

“Please don’t mind Cyclone,” Ice Novice said. “He still has a lot to learn.”

“We all do. Nobody knows everything,” Awn’néad said, smiling in an almost-impish way. Optimus hid his optics in one hand at the tone of voice and body language she used. She still had a lot to learn about how to present herself around Cybertronians. Ice Novice caught the motion, and once Awn’néad was distracted with talking, she gave him a knowing smile, completely shrugging off the unintended self-righteous way Awn’néad had set up around her. Orphans also had a rough time with body language since they didn’t have parents to model themselves after.

For an hour-and-a-half, the human talked, joked, laughed, and played arcade games with the five bots. The youngest’s name was SoundStalker; he was eight. SideGlancer was the second youngest, and he was eight, too, but was born five months earlier than SoundStalker. Cyclone was the “middle kid,” and he was ten, Awn’néad’s age. Trinita was thirteen, and she was the second oldest. And, as she presented, Star Destiny was the oldest. 

At the end, Optimus asked her which one whom she thought would make a good companion. Awn’néad said that she’d think about it overnight . . .

~*~

The next day, Awn’néad and Optimus went back to the orphanage and they met up with four bots instead of the five that were there yesterday.

“Where’s Trinita?” Awn’néad asked.

“She was apprenticed yesterday,” Star Destiny said, smiling.

“That’s great! Did she go to a good place?”

“Slottin’ Pit, yeah, she was!” the bot blurted out. Instantly, her hands went up to clap over her mouth, her voice mortified. “Pardon my language. Please don’t tell Ice Novice I said that. But do you think that she’d let a young bot like her into some sort of work that would get her into trouble?”

“I know, that was a stupid question, wasn’t it?”

“Not as stupid as when SoundStalker talks in his sleep,” Cyclone said.

“That isn’t stupid!” SideGlancer said, grinning like a fool. “That’s pathetic! ‘Ooh! Lemme play wit the dollies! Lemme ride the pony!’ Euch.”

The group laughed. 

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think that watching you play Armored Core is pathetic, Glancer!” SoundStalker shot back, pouting.

“And I think that watching you pretend to know the answers to mere algebra problems is hilarious, as well as pathetic!” SideGlancer shot back.

            “And I think,” Awn’néad said, glancing at Optimus, who was smiling. “I think that Cyclone will have to clean up his stuff. Gosh knows that he has enough of his crap spread all over his room.”

“Why?” Cyclone asked.

“Well, If you’re going to pack it all up to be my study partner, then you’ll have to organize first.”

With that, the four bots’ jaws all but hit the floor.

“Are you saying . . . does . . . does that mean . . . ” Star Destiny asked. “That our little Cyclone is going to . . . ”

“Be a Guardian?” Optimus finished for her. “Maybe sometime in the future. He is currently a little young, but he will most likely train with other young bots to become a part-time Guardian for someone when he’s older. For the moment, though, I think that he and Awn would make good ‘siblings,’ if you would.”

Awn’néad grinned, and wrapped her arms around Optimus’ waist.

“I’m going to be around the Awn’néad! How cool is that? And she’s gonna be my sister!” Cyclone laughed in his glee, pulling SideGlancer into a frenzied, jubilant, and all-around absurd and wild dance. After he tripped over SoundStalker, SideGlancer fell on his rear, causing Cyclone to then pull Awn’néad into another dance, and the two laughed.

Once everyone was sitting on the ground, panting, I might add, Star Destiny jumped up, and said, “C’mon! Let’s go tell the rest!” And, the four bots went running down the halls, laughing and calling into the classrooms, telling about the good fortune that had just been bestowed upon Cyclone, and what he might be . . .

~*~

Awn’néad pulled her hands off the handlebars of her new bike for a split second, then replaced them almost immediately. A pair of crimson optics watched silently from the shadows. The interview two months before had been uneventful . . . and left him somewhat despairing over the fact he hadn’t tried hard enough. And already, he had neutralized two threats that could have turned into large problems for Awn’néad and her Guardians . . . assassination-sized problems, to be specific.

Cyclone called out, “Try just using your fingertips for steering!”

“Okay, I’ll try it already, Mr. Impatient!”

“Selfish brat!”

“Freak-bot!”

The pair laughed, and Awn’néad turned her bike around so that she could have a good run. She pulled her hands up once she had enough speed. She didn’t put them back down.

The front wheel hit a crack, and Awn’néad was sent flying.

“Awn’néad!” Cyclone cried. He started running to where she would probably hit the ground.

The bot with crimson optics rushed out of the shadows and caught Awn’néad carefully, instincts sharpened with the fear that Awn’néad could be seriously hurt. He set her down in a standing position, realizing far too late that he had broken his cover. Primus . . . it wouldn’t be easy explaining this to his benefactor/sponsor. That Maximal would be bloody sent off of his rocker!

Awn’néad was awestruck with the strength and accuracy of this new, tall bot.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “I would’ve been hurt, if you hadn’t, um, appeared in time.”

Cyclone crept up next to Awn’néad, his eyes wide at the bot standing in front of them.

The bot spoke in a deepish, snarling voice, “If I disturbed your training session, my apologies.”

Awn’néad smiled, and said, “No, you didn’t interrupt anything, especially not a training session. Me and Cyclone were just trying out a few new bike tricks.”

He nodded, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a brief smile, and said, “My name is Steele.”

“I’m Awn’néad, and this is Cyclone.”

“Uh, h-h-h-hello,” Cyclone said, still standing mostly behind Awn’néad.

The one called Steele nodded his greeting, not wanting to disturb the younger Maximal any further than he knew he already had.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to Opti and Storm, my original Guardian and his Sub. Cyclone’s only my study partner, but he’s training to become a Guardian when he’s older,” Awn’néad said, picking her bike up and walking it to the door, where it was leaned against the outer wall of the house. Cyclone walked on one side of Awn’néad, keeping as much distance between himself and Steele without looking as if he was trying to do so, which made it all the more obvious.

They found Optimus and Stormblend walking slowly in the general direction of the courtyard that Awn’néad was riding her bike in.

“Opti! Storm!” she called.

The two bots looked up, saw Steele, and then looked at Awn’néad with questioning, amazed looks. They were at the complete opposite end of the hallway. Optimus whispered quietly to his teacher, “How did she know?”

Stromblend looked down at Optimus and replied, “I don’t think she does. But remember what he said, when he told us who he was.”

“Titan’s son . . . Primus. Spitting image of his father.”

“You weren’t even born when I met his father at his age. And you owe him an apology for how you treated him earlier.”

Optimus winced, knowing his err, and nodded.

Awn’néad and the two bots reached the two Guardians finally, and she told the whole story, not omitting a single minor detail. When she finished, Optimus turned to Steele and said, “You have no idea how relieved I am. And I’m sorry about our previous discussion. I know that it ended on bad terms. I have one question, though.”

Steele and Optimus locked their gaze on each other’s optics, and Steele said, “Which would be?”

“I would be deeply honored, if you would accept the position of part-time trainee Guardian.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“No grudges held. Hopefully that’s mutual.”

Steele thought for a moment, and said, “I will join. On one condition, though.”

“Which would be?”

“That I am not paid wages. I volunteer myself.”

“That isn’t as big a problem as you think,” Stormblend said. “Because we’re all ‘volunteers’. The Maximal Elders don’t pay either us, or any other Guardians. I thought you knew?”

“I wasn’t aware of the rules and regulations. However, there might just be a problem. You know I am a Predacon.”

“No way,” Cyclone said.

Steele nodded once.

“You know that doesn’t matter to me,” Optimus said. “To tell you the truth, I could care less about your alliance. You prevented Awn’néad from getting injured. That’s all that does matter.”

“I’m with Optimus on that one,” Stormblend said.

“Aw . . . Well . . . I . . . So what if you’re a Pred? I saw you catch Awn’néad, and I know that you’d do it again,” Cyclone said.

“Then I am the one honored,” Steele said. “I am honored with the trust of Awn’néad’s Guardian.”

Awn’néad smiled, and said to Optimus, “I’ll show him around.”

“I’ll go with her,” Cyclone said, smiling at Steele.

Steele looked at the three bots and one human around him, and sighed in an almost relieved manner. The second meeting didn’t go as badly as he had thought it would.

~*~

One year later, Awn’néad was sitting in an office, stifling a yawn for the millionth time, almost literally. She was now twelve, two weeks away from thirteenth birthday, and was quite excited about everything. Well, to be more precise, when she wasn’t in one of these slaggin’ offices, listening to one manager or another asking her to introduce this ceremony, or be in that parade. The one worldwide holiday that she always went to was the annual memorial service for the victims of Base Rugby. Thankfully, the ceremony was on Cybertron’s surface and not on the Base itself. She wouldn’t have been able to handle herself. That ceremony was sometimes the only time that she ever saw Depth Charge, with the exception of her birthday, over the course of the year. Most times, though, he visited more often than that, sometimes as many times as twice a month. Being the “messenger boy” of the Maximal Elders, as he said, was a busy job. But every time he saw Awn’néad, he said that with every period of time that passed, she looked more and more like her mother, and always with a strange longing in his optics . . .

Awn’néad thought that it was him clearly meaning that he missed being a Guardian. Optimus and Awn’néad had offered to let him become one of her Guardians, but he refused politely, and the human let it drop. Yet the young Guardian knew exactly what that longing was for, and that wasn’t to become a Guardian again. It was for the one whom he had loved . . . and lost at Rugby.

“I know that you are, let us say, selective, about the different ceremonies that you participate in, but I do believe that you’d like this.”

Awn’néad groaned inwardly. She’s heard this approach before one too many times.

“There is a B.S.C. Championship, and-”

“Wait a minute, before you go on: What is ‘B.S.C.’?” Awn’néad interrupted.

“Oh, I’m sorry. B.S.C. stands for Battle Simulation Combatants. It’s a fancy name of saying ‘arena fighters’.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“It will be held this weekend, at the Cybertropolis City Arena, and starts at nine A.M. until the winner is announced. Usually, though, it’s about three to five hours. These are professional fighters who have trained most of their lives and are presently at the top of their Arena’s list. I’ve heard that two or three combatants of the Matrices Arena haven’t been beaten in at least a year, and that they have never competed against each other. I really wanted to ask you if you’d announce the different competitors.”

Awn’néad looked at Cyclone and Optimus, who were waiting for her decision.

“Both Optimus and Cyclone know that I never make a decision so quickly. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Out on the walk outside the office building, Cyclone said, “That would be a cool thing to do. You know, to announce the fights?”

Awn’néad laughed, and said, “I’ve already decided to do it, but I know that you, Opti, are scheduled for a meeting with the Maximal Elders on that date, and I just wanted to make sure you approved of me doing it.”

“If you keep close to Steele, Cyclone and/or Stormblend, then, yes, you can. If the meeting ends earlier than usual, which I don’t think is mortally possible, then I’ll meet you there. The Elders like their long-winded speeches about your safety,” Optimus replied, smiling. “Now all you have to do is get something to wear and tell that secretary that you’ll do it.”

Just at that point, they were walking past the Cybertropolis City Arena. Awn’néad stopped to look at it.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s bigger than the Elder’s citadel.”

“Hey, ’Néad!” a voice called.

“Huh? Oh! Raynah! What’re you doing in the Big City?” Awn’néad said, smiling at the girl whose mother had been brought up in the Guardian program and had insisted that her daughter be raised the way that she was. That meant that Raynah had both a Guardian and a mother, as her father had been killed when she was too little to remember him. She had moved to Earth a year ago to be with her mother’s family but still came to visit now and then. She was with her mother and their respective Guardians, Streakfire and Emberblade.

“I’m here to see the big Championship. Please don’t tell me that you haven’t heard of it,” Raynah said sarcastically, blue eyes flashing with excitement. She was two years older than Awn’néad, and acted like an elder sister.

“Aw, who, me? I’m announcing the fights.”

“No way!”

“Yeah! Do you have good seats?”

“Naw, only bleacher seats.”

“The manager that told me about it said that if I accept, I’ve got a bunch of balcony seats. All the announcer’s friends get the best seats.”

Optimus and the rest of the older people were talking together. Cyclone stood behind Awn’néad. Once, Raynah’s mother, Kristine, looked at Awn’néad, then back at Optimus, and the two started talking again. Fifteen minutes later, the two groups parted, but Awn’néad had gotten the number of where Raynah was staying. When they arrived at the stilted building that Awn’néad, her Guardians and Sub-Guardians called home two or so hours later, Awn’néad saw Steele looking out of a window worriedly. Rather, as worriedly as he would let himself to show. The Predacon met them at the top of the lift that everybody used to get in. He looked at Prime, his expressive optics giving their opinion of a certain matter. Optimus turned to Cyclone, smiled, and said, “Take some time off and sleep. You’ll be up pretty late three nights from now.”

“What about Awn’néad? She needs sleep, too,” Cyclone asked.

“I’ve got to figure out where she has to go tomorrow, considering Saturday. And she has favorite stores she likes to shop in. I don’t want to make a bad choice. I’d rather have her glare at me here, and not at the store.”

The younger bot laughed, knowing that the green-eyed glare was something never to mess with. “Okay. G’night everyone!” Cyclone said, and jogged down the halls to his quarters.

“Follow me,” Steele said, and walked down another hall.

They ended at Stormblend’s lab, where Stormblend sat at his desk, staring numbly at his laptop. Electra’s hand was on his shoulder. It looked like she couldn’t stand up on her own.

“Stormblend?” Awn’néad asked timidly.

He turned, saw Awn’néad, Optimus, and Steele, and sighed raggedly.

“There’s been a murder close to us.”

Optimus’ stepped closer to his old teacher as Awn’néad leaned closer to Steele, showing a trait that her mother had also shown in times of stress: Sinead had often stood close to Titan or Depth Charge when things looked as if they were going to get rough, knowing that both of them were safe.

“Who? Who was murdered?” Optimus managed to croak out.

“A Guardian. The name hasn’t been released. We were worried, not only for you, Awn’néad, but for Optimus and Cyclone as well.”

“Why?” Awn’néad asked.

“Because one of the humans were seriously injured, and-”

Electra cut in, finally finding her voice. “They were scrapped! There were two Guardians at first, but one has . . . he has departed. The second is in a critical state, same as the human. Neither look like they’ll last long, though. This takes the cake, icing, and candles. Who the slag would do that?”

Awn’néad’s brow furrowed in thought. She knew of a way that would find out something that had been nagging at the back of her mind since the last publicity interview she had all but been forced into had ran its course. Something about a terrorist action years before her mom was even married, and a bot that Sinead had known had died protecting her. It sounded all to familiar. “Wait a second. Could I use your laptop, Storm?”

Stormblend nodded, and Awn’néad crossed the room, and typed some words into the “Search” file of crime reports that she was allowed to search through. She fiddled around with the settings, and then finally got some information. However, it wasn’t what she wanted.

But she suddenly knew who had killed her mother . . .

Click here for part four